


The Coffee Shop Job

by Rainah (RainahFiclets)



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, I mean sort of they're still conning, M/M, Multi, have fun this is Wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9044480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainahFiclets/pseuds/Rainah
Summary: It's a coffee shop au, except everyone is still, you know, themselves.
Thus, it's the three of them each trying to pull a con while in a coffeeshop.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oaxara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaxara/gifts).



> On the first day of christmas my true love said to me... 'what if there was a leverage coffee shop au that would be awesome'
> 
> Merry Christmas my love

There were two kinds of customers at the Sacred Grounds Coffee And Snack Bar.

One: wealthy businessmen who had realized the museum coffee shop was the closest place to get coffee from the office building next door. They were abrupt, rude, and never looked him in the eye, but at least they didn't’ cause trouble.

Two: The hipsters who wanted to stop by for a grande no ice frappachino on their way to _sample the Monet_ in the gallery rooms.

And god, Eliot really wished he could be targeting the later instead of the former.

“Can I get a Triple, Venti, Half Sweet, Non-Fat, Caramel Macchiato?” The woman in line drawled.

Eliot glared. “You know this isn’t a starbucks, right?”

“So? Give me whatever the equivalent of a Triple, Venti, Half Sweet, Non-Fat, Caramel Macchiato is?”

“There isn’t one.” He tried to be patient, he really did. Every day he told himself _you like making people food. You can pull this off for a week while you get in place to finish a job._ “You can have coffee, tea, or any of the specialty drinks written on the blackboard behind me.” Of which there were three.

“Fine.” She huffed. “I have to think about it then.”

“Sounds good. Next!”

“I’ll have a green passion tea with-”

Two more days of this. Two more days until the Picasso Gala, where one William Von Claire would be visiting from his office next door to rub shoulders with the wealthy elite. William Von Claire, who was about to find out exactly how bad of an idea it was to piss off the Russians.

Elliot’s attention turned to the next lady in line: young, blonde and wide eyed. But instead of ordering a venti-frappe-cocoa-whatever, she stared at him for a long moment before blurting “Tea!”

“Any particular kind?” Elliot drawled. 

“Good tea!” She looked ever so slightly panicked. “Whatever tea you like. I like tea.”

“Earl Grey coming up.” 

God, he really couldn’t wait till this job was over.

\- - -

Alec Hardison glanced over at the commotion by the coffeeshop counter - some girl shouting about tea. Huh. The handsome yet scowly barista probably hadn’t liked her order either.

Alec was still fighting the urge to grumble about his own argument with the man; Orange soda was a perfectly legitimate coffee order, thank you very much. Definitely not something deserving a scornful look and a softly drawled “Really?” 

Once they had established _Look, do you have it or not?_ and the man had confirmed that he did, there was really nothing more to say. Alec came in every morning, ordered an orange soda, and sat down to work on his laptop.

The Sacred Grounds Coffee Shop was not just conveniently located for museum patrons to buy overpriced coffee. It was also the perfect place for a con. The building next door was owned by one William Von Claire, billionaire about to lose his fortune.

It may not be nice, but hey. It was fun.

“Easy baby, easy there,” he coaxed the computer. “There’s a good girl.” This guy had encryption like _woah._ He hadn’t seen code like this since he’d tried to crack the Russian servers and see what Putin had been up to.

(He’d not succeeded. But then again, he’s been nineteen. And the feds hadn’t shown up at his Nana’s door so really, he was going to count that as a success.)

Another orange soda slammed down onto his table with altogether too much force. “ _Thank_ you,” Hardison called. He got a grunt in return, also routine. And then-

“You a student?”

Hardison looked up, startled. The grouchy barista was standing there expectantly. As if he walked up to customers all the time and started conversations instead of standing behind the counter looking both incredible attractive and incredibly terrifying.

“Yeah!” Hardison improvised quickly. He’d gone to school. Sort of. He’d gone to high school. “Working on, uh, my dissertation.”

The barista pursed his lips. “Look a little young for that.”

“I graduated high school at the tender age of sixteen.” The lies just kept coming, fueled by a faux-hurt tone. “I cannot believe you would stereotype me like that. I was a member of Mensa - the, the child genius society. I cannot believe you do not know that man.”

“Whatever.” The man muttered, slouching back to the counter where he could brood in peace at any customers that came in.

Hardison tried to go back to his code. He still had another few days of setup to do. But he was still too shaken by the encounter.

_I guess it’s time to check out the paintings._

\- - -

Parker liked the grumpy barista. He rolled his eyes at her, sure, but he rolled his eyes at everyone. She liked his long hair and the irritable way he served up simple soups and sandwiches. She liked to watch him as she prepared for her con.

There was going to be a Picasso gala tomorrow, and she was going to steal the focus point of the exhibit. 

(Diamonds were infinitely better than art, but art meant money and Parker liked money _very_ much.)

As she scoped out various exhibits, she wondered idly if she could steal a few other things. Not during the gala, the Picasso would be hard enough - but just as she was waiting around for the con to start. Just a little bit to tide her over. There was a lovely piece hanging across from the coffeeshop, so she wandered over there and started fiddling with the frame.

Suddenly, a sharp voice yelled, “What are you doing, girl?” A security guard started towards her, drawing his walkie talkie. 

“Oh!” She laughed, nervously, and saw him frown in confusion. People tended to do that when she laughed. “I was just. I was checking out the frame. For a bet. With my friend, you know, my friend-” she looked around frantically. Where was the grumpy barista when she needed him?

She would have to make do. “My friend here!” Parker cried, and sat down next to a man with a laptop and an orange soda. “Play along,” she hissed.

“What?” 

Oh great, he was useless. “My friend here!” She slapped him on the shoulder. “My _good_ friend here. His name is… it escapes me. He asked me to look at the painting. For research!”

“Sir, is your friend intoxicated?” The guard asked.

And finally, _finally_ , he stepped in to save her. “No sir, my friend is just a little offbeat - aren’t you sweetie?” She nodded in what she hoped was a convincing fashion. “You have to excuse her officer you know how these things are.” He lowered his voice. “Did you do the sensitivity training for this kind of situation?”

“Sensitivity training?” The guard looked bewildered.

“Oh my. Better do that now. We will overlook it - this _once_ , I say, this _once._ ”

As soon as the guard left, Parker leapt to her feet. She didn’t need the handsome stranger anymore, and she really did want to get another look at the security on that painting.

But he held up a hand to stop her. “Going so soon? Don’t you want a soda?” He frowned at her blank expression. “Or a tea? Come and sit a minute, it’s only polite. And the guard might come back,” he added.

Well, that was a fairly good reason. She sat back down, crossing her arms. “I hate waiting.”

“Don’t think of it as waiting,” the man said as he got up to get her a tea. “Think of it as enjoying something new. I’m Hardison.”

“Parker,” she supplied.

\- - -

Finally it was the day of the gala, and Eliot couldn’t be more impatient to get this over with and done. 

The gala was after hours, so after he closed up shop he was to report to catering and begin a second shift handing out hors d'oeuvres. With an irritated sigh he stalked over to the solitary customer still in Sacred Grounds. “Time to go, man, we’re closing.”

Whatever was on the screen - numbers it looked like, ones and zeros - was replaced with an article before Eliot could blink. “What? What? Who told you you could get all up in someone’s privacy, huh?”

“Hey now,” Eliot held up both hands, pretending like he can’t snap this guy’s neck with one hand. Hell, with _no_ hands. He doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job of pretending though, as the customer looked a little alarmed. “We’re closing up, there’s a fancy gala.”

“A fancy-” the man swears. “A fancy gala, that’s just perfect.” He sounds like it’s anything but. Then he looks at Eliot. “So what? Are you going to it or something?”

As if. “No man,” Eliot tried his best to sound reassuring. “I’m just the hired help. But if you want…” he hesitated, then grinned. What can he say? Something about this awkward, slightly-too-old college student tugs at his heartstrings. Something about the utter cluelessness of ordering orange soda at a fancy museum coffeeshop.

“If I want?” The man asked, and there’s a spark of heat in his eyes.

Eliot bit back a shiver. “I can sneak you in.”

The man evaluates this proposal. Then he nodded, and stuck out his hand. “Hardison.”

He’s got a good handshake, solid and firm. “Eliot. Let’s break into a gala.”

\- - - 

Hardison was going to die. He was going to die surrounded by satin suit jackets and lace, pressed into the corner by some fluttery woman who’s trying to tell him about which Picasso represent his most _authentic_ inner child. 

He’s already tried to say _Look, lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about_ but she just laughed every time. Beyond that everyone seemed to think his Star Wars t-shirt and ripped jeans are some kind of fashion statement - more than one person have already told him how inspired they were.

What’s worse, he’d already lost track of the grumpy, longhaired, very handsome barista.

In the corner, he saw someone else in a similar predicament. A flash of blonde hair, an awkward fidget, and suddenly he recognized her. Parker. “Excuse me ma’am,” he said to the woman, “but I, ah, see someone crowding my date against the wall. You understand.”

“Of course darling!” the woman cried, throwing her arms up. “Go and get your love!”

That might be going a little too far. But he gives her his most charming smiling, and hurried over to Parker.

...just in time to see her stab the man with a fork.

“Parker!” he called quickly. “Sorry about my friend, sir, you know, she’s kind of sensitive.” As he grabbed Parker he made sure to shoulder check the man. “You know. Baggage. Of the emotional kind. Don’t ever mention the word ‘peanuts’ in front of her. Come on darling!” He dragged her away to the punch table.

“I had that perfectly under control,” Parker hissed.

Hardison just stared. “You stabbed him with a fork.”

“So?” She asked indignantly. “It could have been a knife!”

“I-” He wasn’t going to touch that one. “You know what? Okay. Sure. You had that under control. Whatever you say.”

On the other side of the table, Eliot appeared like a malevolent spirit. “What are you and your girlfriend doing to this party?”

“Nothing.” Parker said quickly.

Hardison just sputtered. “And she is _not_ my girlfriend.” Not that he’d mind if she was. Parker _or_ Eliot. Privately, he wondered about the ethics of asking someone out while in the middle of a hacking job.

“Whatever,” Eliot waved them away impatiently. “I need everything to stay cool for about twenty more minutes, can you hold in your weirdness until then?”

Hardison nodded. Parker brightened. “What are you doing in twenty minutes?”

“I, uh,” Eliot flushed, shifting his weight.

That was when the sirens went off.

\- - - 

She usually didn’t have a problem with dismounts, either physical or metaphorical. But ever since running into this man - Hardison - and the man he introduced as Eliot, she’d been feeling out of sorts. A little fluttery, a little happy, a little too aware of every single part of her body.

She needed to figure out how to get rid of these sensations as soon as possible. 

As soon as they were in the clear, preferably, because she was currently bolting towards the door with a man on either side of her and if there were rubber bullets or tasers being shot one of them might be helpful. 

A security guard leapt out from a corridor. Without blinking an eye Eliot grabbed the man, kicked him in the gut, and flung him away. He didn’t even break stride.

“What- what _are_ you?” Hardison asked incredulously.

“Not a barista,” Eliot growled, urging both of them out the door and onto the safety of the street. “My name is Eliot Spencer. Retrieval specialist, hitter- I was hired to assassinate William Von Claire at the gala tonight.” 

“William Von Claire?” Hardison stopped, breathing heavily. “You’re assassinating the guy I just stole twenty million dollars from?”

“You _what_?” Eliot turned on him. Parker had to laugh at their expressions - it was just _ridiculous_.

“Alec Hardison,” Hardison smirked, turning just slightly towards Parker. “Black hat hacker.”

“Hacker,” Eliot scoffed. “That’s why you can’t punch a guy.”

“Twenty million dollars,” Hardison countered. “Age of the geek baby, age of the geek. How does twenty million dollars sound to you?” He asked Parker.

Parker allowed herself a small smile. She’d had to race an alarm, but it was still a job well done. “How about a hundred million?” They both gaped as she pulled the Picasso from her jacket.

“Parker is that…” Hardison reached for it, reverently. 

“Parker…” Eliot shook his head. “Parker! The thief.”

“The one and only.” She turned and started walking down the street, confident they would both follow. After a moment, they did. “We work well together, you know. Different skills.”

“We do,” Hardison agreed. Eliot just growled, but when Hardison gave him an expectant look he nodded his assent.

“I’m not saying it’s a long term thing…”

“Or even, you know, a _thing_ it doesn’t have to be a thing…”

“I don’t even remember your names. You’re already dead to me and we haven’t even started.”

“But for a bit?” Hardison looked from one face to the other, and Parker found herself doing the same. Very different people they were, these two, but both people she found value in.

Con value. Because she didn’t like people, not at all. Just used them to steal things. And they were both useful, so she focused on that.

They were also handsome, and criminals, and didn’t look too closely at her oddities. She chose not to focus on that part.

Instead, she linked arms with each. “Good. Then let’s go get some coffees.”

**Author's Note:**

> (PS the lady talking to Eliot is totally Sophie running her own con)
> 
>  
> 
> You can find me on [on tumblr](http://www.thellamaduo.tumblr.com) or some jazz
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are loved.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Coffee Shop Job by Rainah](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13224990) by [UstolemyNAME](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UstolemyNAME/pseuds/UstolemyNAME)




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